Wheeling Gull Isle highwayside

a woman marches toward the girl, tail curled high and gaze sparking with what she assumes to be aggression. her hackles prickle, and her spine tenses as she rises onto her haunches, right hind angled awkwardly to the side. nares flare to draw in the dark woman's scent, auds pressed forward as her gaze narrows. 

she will not appear weak, even when the strength required to remain stiffly upright has nausea swirl in her stomach. she's eaten much less than would usually take to sustain her, and she doesn't exactly have the ability to go out and seak a better meal. "the three-legged boy," she answers, voice a low drawl. "orochi." she latter is spat out a bit more forcefully. they'd had a much better relationship when she'd been the one to punish his trespass. she lowers her crown, gaze sweeping over the woman again. who is she to this pack. "you might call it retribution." karma, perhaps; of all the islands she had to struggle towards this one, with the boy on it.